


Out Of Reach Of My Arms

by yxuraffectionatelaurens



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, F/F, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 10:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11251284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yxuraffectionatelaurens/pseuds/yxuraffectionatelaurens
Summary: "I'd make an excellent subject, you must admit," Montparnasse drawled. He swerved around Grantaire to lean against a cart.Grantaire raised an eyebrow slowly, fingers slowly drumming on his bag strap. The sun made Montparnasse's eyes seem a lovely shade of brown in their eagerness.He settled for an eye roll and pushed past the taller man, boots splashing in the shallow mud. "You'd also make an excellent dissection model. I can recommend someone if you're interested."





	Out Of Reach Of My Arms

A benefit to being the prince meant one could never be late to parties.

Well, it was an oversimplification of a complicated truth. Technically, to be prompt, the prince did need to arrive early to greet his guests. He should be there to greet them, introduce them to the splendor of the castle he’d poured so much of his heart and soul (and his people’s taxes) into. 

The prince, however, was not known for being prompt. Rather, he preferred the tenacious power he held in working by his own rules, in irritating his guests by strolling into his own parties whenever he preferred and watching them be powerless to change him.

“Master? It’s time.” 

He didn’t look over at the voice. There was no need; he was already well aware of the time. Out of the corner of one sharp eye, he noticed a careful fix of a pair of glasses. “I know. It doesn’t matter. I will make an appearance when I am presentable.” Instead, he tossed a glance to where one of his ladies-in-waiting was preparing some fine powders for his face. “Make me beautiful.”

She scoffed quietly, hushing him. The powders were gentle and warm against his face, and her hand moved at a practiced but rushed pace. “You are already stunning, your Highness.”

He wasn’t an idiot; there was always a fine sheen of dutiful tact over everything his servants said to him. 

Something lingered in his gaze when his eyes met the servant’s in the mirror, and he wondered if she recognized the self-deprecation in it. Her charm was appealing but ultimately useless.

The prince stretched out and allowed her to craft an illusion of beauty on his face. His own icy blue eyes regarded him in the mirror.

“You aren’t worried about appearances? Your Highness?” The majordomo added hastily, and there was a hint of anxiety in his voice. 

“Leave me.” The prince allowed his lady-in-waiting to fix a fine wig for him, listened to the clicking footsteps of his chief servant away from the room, though he could tell it bothered him. Part of him wished he was not quite so sentimental with the staff - surely, he could use hands who appreciated him more and questioned him less. 

Rain pattered against the window, and the prince sighed a little. The _maître d'hôtel_ was surely handling the hosting downstairs as he always did, bright smile, too cheery and friendly for his tastes, yet entertaining well all the same.

It was not to be misunderstood, however - the prince loved his parties. He enjoyed the prestige of it all. He simply didn’t want to give off the idea that he cared about any of it. 

“I should get rid of him. Send him out into the cold.” He waved a hand around casually in the direction the majordomo had headed off in, a gentle verbal nudge to his servants. As his serving girl worked, she occasionally glanced over his head at the head housekeeper across the room, who had taken up a position in the corner of the room. 

The housekeeper was a smaller man, clutching formal robes for the prince in his arms, trying to hide a discreet cough into his sleeve every now and then. The prince was observant, and noticed every silent exchange between his servants, even if he couldn’t decipher all of them himself. 

“He has served diligently for years, Highness,” The housekeeper said finally, his voice skittish but warm and sweet. “Now, come here, that…” He gestured to the more casual robes the prince was currently dressed in, a silky elegant purple. “That won’t do. You deserve only the finest, dear.”

The prince’s lips curled in disdain as he stood, the serving girl finishing with the coat of powder she’d applied to his face, his blue eyes now accentuated with swirls of silver and cerulean around them. There was a semblance of some cold sort of beauty on his face, not gentle and soft, but powerful and threatening. “Don’t order me around, it doesn’t suit you.” He stood with his arms out, allowing the housekeeper to begin dressing him. 

Standing next to the desk, although her gaze brushed across a chair like she wanted to sit, the serving girl and housekeeper exchanged a warm smile.

The prince pretended not to notice, gaze fixed on the baroque decoration. Perhaps he should add a candelabra to the dressing room. The housekeeper worked at his robes, a deep blue with golden decorations. 

“Ah, you look magnificent, Highness,” He mumbled as he adjusted a sleeve gently, holding a few pins carefully with his teeth. “The stars themselves could never match your luminescence.”

The prince rolled a shoulder carefully when he finished, stealing another glance in the mirror of his lithe figure cloaked in regale. “I am going to the ballroom. Clean that desk, then come attend to the guests. Or don’t, it doesn’t matter to me.”

With a wry smile, the serving girl ran a hand down the housekeeper’s arm gently. He leaned on his cane, chuckled gently, watched the prince make his way down the hallway with the elegant air only a royal could achieve. One of the prince’s guardians trailed behind him, intimidating in his robust honor. 

“And what do you think, _ma chérie_?” She asked, voice gentle but teasing. He took her warm brown hand in his pale one. “Do you believe our prince could ever replace his beloved servants?”

“I think he cares for little else. Good for us, too, we’re lucky to live in a home so grand.” Waving a hand about, the housekeeper leaned forward on his cane to brush her cheek in a kiss. “I was hoping I might catch a dance with you tonight, _mademoiselle_.”

Her eyebrow cocked slightly, and she smiled. “Servants dancing at a royal’s ball? Scandalous. If I can pull you away from our Félicien, I’d love to.”

They joined arms, and practically waltzed down the hall together.

The performers sang beautifully that night, while the prince watched nonchalantly from his seat. One of the singers outshone the others, dress shining under the candlelights, pearls and golden thread almost paling the prince’s attire in comparison. The dancers filled the room with music and laughter. A freckled gentleman took coats at the door. A young servant with strawberry blond hair had lingered behind a tall pillar, his feather duster moving softly about the base needlessly, watching where the _maître d'hôtel_ effortlessly charmed and served, donning gold. The prince watched over all, twisting his finger around a single curl of his wig. Outside, the rain continued to darken the gardens, and none heard the sound of a cloak dragging through the mud. 

Hours later, the music and the laughter was silent. The halls of the castle grew dark, and a heavy shadow moved across the halls.


End file.
